


Before All Else

by yet_intrepid



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Presents, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Twelve Days of Fic-mas, Why Are All the Moms Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8852833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: Faramir flips it over. His name is in fact scrawled on the back, Boromir’s writing so familiar it sends a pang through him. But inside—Locksmith’s shop, third circle, sign of the treasure chest. Ask for Hithorn. That’s all.
(or, Boromir gives Faramir a present.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheesethesecond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesethesecond/gifts).



> For a prompt from Cheese: "FARAMIR RECEIVES A GIFT OF SOME KIND."

Faramir frowns down at the creased paper he’s been handed. “Mablung,” he says, slowly, “are you sure?”

“Quite sure, captain.” Mablung nods in complete conviction. “Lord Boromir gave it to me just before he left, said I was to give it to you at Yule if he hadn’t yet returned. It’s addressed clear enough.”

Faramir flips it over. His name is in fact scrawled on the back, Boromir’s writing so familiar it sends a pang through him. But inside—

_Locksmith’s shop, third circle, sign of the treasure chest. Ask for Hithorn._

 That’s all.

“I couldn’t have mistaken it,” Mablung says, but his voice is less sure than his words.

“You didn’t,” Faramir assures him. “The mistake must be my brother’s. He had written a note to himself, and something for me, and switched their places by accident.”

“Captain,” Mablung starts, and Faramir shakes his head.

“Don’t trouble yourself about it,” he says. Mablung has enough to worry over during their short time in the City, his wife’s fading sight and his first grandchild, just born with a cleft lip. What is this in comparison, this short fall after a sharp burst of joy?

It will pass, Faramir tells himself, though that does not soothe the sting.

“But Captain,” Mablung says again. “When he gave it to me, he said you might find it a bit strange. A mystery, he said. And he—he was laughing.”

Faramir looks up slowly from the strange message, then back down at it.

“Thank you, Mablung,” he says. “I will take that into consideration. If any has need of me, I will be in the third circle.”

Hithorn the locksmith expects him, somehow, and gives him a key with an attached note: _Printer’s shop, fifth circle, silversmiths’ street._

It starts to snow as Faramir winds his way back upwards, a hint of a smile on his face. He knows this print shop—it still holds in its basement a good portion of Gondor’s archives, though some of the records have found better homes since he was a boy. Elunis, who used to oversee the work, has a bad limp now and, as Faramir expects, her new assistant is the one to welcome him when he raps at the side door in the alley.

“My brother has sent me on a chase around the city,” he explains, as she leads him down the familiar stairs. “Have you a note for me on where I am to go next?”

The assistant shakes her head. “Elunis would know—lucky for you she’s here today. Madam Elunis, the lord Faramir is here!”

Elunis, leaning on her staff, appears from behind a shelf. “Oh my,” she says, and Faramir grins at her. Perhaps this was Boromir’s gift after all, a reminder to Faramir to visit the places and things and people that he loves and fights for. But Elunis, before even greeting him properly, is shuffling over to a desk.

“He left it,” she mutters to herself. “Oh my, what a mess of papers—it must be here, mustn’t it?”

“Madam Elunis,” Faramir starts, “it is a gift to see you, in truth. How have you fared?”

Without turning back to him, Elunis waves a hand. “I am in good enough health,” she says. “But this brother of yours, the lord Boromir—did he give you a key?”

“Yes,” says Faramir, producing it. “Have I need of it?”

Elunis finds what she’s looking for and shows him.

It’s a small chest, easy enough to carry under the arm, and a fair one, too—the leather is tooled with swirls of leaves and vines, and the lock is intricate metalwork. Faramir, his curiosity swelling, takes it from Elunis and settles into a chair to insert the key.

The chest contains a letter, sitting atop something rectangular and wrapped in soft cloth. Faramir opens the letter.

_Brother—_

_In truth it is a miracle I was born to this family, for though you and Father have little enough in common you are both scholars, having mastery over tongue and pen. And so, it seems, was our mother._

_This gift is more from Uncle Imrahil’s hands than mine; I obtained from him her journals and letters from before she wedded Father. There is a translation as well, if I am not mistaken, some old Elvish sort of thing she was rendering into Common. You would certainly have been her favored child, you who shamed your tutors through knowing more than they! So take heart in that, and I will be home to ease things with Father as soon as I can._

_A mirthful Yule, Faramir! Drink some good ale in my name. I remain your brother before all else._

_Boromir_

Faramir reads the letter over again, then tucks it into the chest again. He closes it, locks it with the key—he will read his mother’s writings; he will cherish them, of course. But for now this is all the love and loss he can bear: that Boromir remembered him even in absence.

 


End file.
